CHAPTER 7: CHILD OF THE MOON

Raven’s POV

The fever pulled me under like a tide.

I drifted in and out of darkness, caught between two worlds. Sometimes I was back in the forest, silver nets burning into my skin. 

Sometimes I was at the border oak, watching my father’s blade come down into my chest. And sometimes… sometimes there were three voices above me, arguing in low tones about crowns and curses and time.

Ara stirred restlessly in the fever-dreams. She kept pressing against the inside of my skin as if the silver knife my father left as a goodbye gift had left a door ajar and she was trying to force it wider. I felt her claws scrape along my ribs. Felt her howl die in my throat.

On the third day, the tide finally let go.

I woke slowly, my eyelids heavy as stone. The room came into focus piece by piece. A ceiling of dark timber beams. Firelight dancing on stone walls. Heavy furs pulled up to my chin, so warm they nearly smothered me. My shoulder ached dully beneath the linen wrapping, but the burning was gone.

And then, like a knife sliding between my ribs, I remembered.

One king. Not three… whichever of us she chooses first, chooses completely… that’s the one who takes the crown.

She’s ours whether she understands why yet or not.

My hands curled into the furs. I looked around the magnificent room; from the look of things, I was no longer anywhere near my old pack. 

The door opened, and the three brothers walked in.

Ansel moved like he owned the air itself, all broad shoulders and quiet command. Asher followed, golden and unhurried, and took up a lean against the wall, arms crossed. Rowan lingered near the door, storm-gray eyes finding mine immediately, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

Now that the danger had passed, I understood how serious this situation was. This meant the princes of the Crescent Silver pack stood at the absolute peak of power in the werewolf realm. 

Even though I was the first daughter of Blackwood, my chances of meeting them in my life were lower than zero. And now I am their mate? All three of them? 

The thought filled me with so much anxiety that I had to struggle to meet their eyes and not throw up and embarrass myself more. If what I had heard about my mates was true, then I could only count on the goddess to save me. 

Ansel sat on the edge of my bed. I fought the urge to flinch away. His presence made me feel so comfortable and not at the same time.  

“Fever’s down,” he said, pressing a large, warm palm to my forehead. “That’s good.”

“Took you long enough.” Asher’s voice came from the wall, sharp as it had been three days ago, hidden behind the door. “Now that you’re conscious and mobile, you’ll come with us. As our mate, certain things must first be taken care of.”

Our mate. Certain things. My stomach turned. So it began.

Rowan pushed off the doorframe. “She just woke up. You must be hungry. You’ll freshen up and eat first before anything else.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, and something in his tone made both his brothers glance at him. Ansel withdrew his hand and stood.

“As you wish,” he said, with the faint air of a man conceding a small battle in a long war.

I ate in silence while they watched me as if I might shatter.

The food was good…roasted meat, warm bread, some honeyed root…and I hated that it tasted good. I hated that the furs were soft and the fire was warm and my body, traitorous thing, was healing. 

Comfort made it harder to remember that I was a prisoner wearing the costume of a guest.

When I finished, they flanked me without discussion. Ansel ahead. Asher at my right shoulder. Rowan’s hand hovering near my back, not quite touching.

They led me through corridors of dark stone until the air changed. It grew cooler, scented with herbs and smoke, and the torchlight gave way to the flicker of candle flame in a hundred colors.

The pack’s mage waited in the center of the chamber.

She was beautiful in a way that made my eyes ache. Emerald green eyes. Silver hair that flowed past her waist like liquid moonlight, moving slightly though there was no wind. I stared, wide-eyed, until Rowan leaned close, his breath warm at my ear.

“Don’t let it fool you,” he murmured. “She’s much older than any of us.”

The mage…Maya, Ansel had called her…turned as we entered. And when her eyes landed on me, something shifted in them. Why does she look excited to see me? 

Ansel nodded his head at her slightly. “Maya. We’ve brought her for the blessing.”

“Every newly mated pair comes to me,” Maya said, her voice like water over stones. “It is our tradition. The Moon Goddess looks kindly on those who honor her first.” Her green eyes held mine, and I had a strange feeling.

The ritual itself was simple. She circled me three times, sprinkling something that smelled of night-blooming flowers, chanting in a language that made Ara sit up and listen. The brothers stood at the edges of the candlelight, three shapes in the dark, and I felt the bond-threads pull at me from three directions, restless and unsatisfied.

Not seals, I reminded myself. Leashes.

When it was done, Maya dismissed the brothers with a wave of her hand that somehow brooked no argument. They hesitated…all three of them, I noted…and filed out.

Then Maya took my face in her cool hands.

For a moment she simply looked at me, searching, and something ancient and sorrowful moved behind her emerald eyes. 

Then she pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Child of the moon,” she whispered, “you are far more than anyone presumes.”

I pulled back, confused. “What do you mean?”

She only smiled, a small, knowing thing, and stepped away into the candlelight, silver hair swallowing the glow.

“You will understand,” she said, “with time.”